Morning sun, entering the sky,
bright and clean and fresh;
promises of warmth ahead,
as the hours of midday mesh.
The Spring of a new year,
lies dormant, full of hope;
the promises of  change,
from winter's slippery *****.
We wait with anxious breath,
as the cold goes in retreat;
as the frost of dawn recedes,
on silent, cat-like feet.
We wait, with new found spirit,
for the best of times ahead;
we wait, with bated feelings,
these tiered clothes to shed.
Old Sol is rising quickly,
on the back, the heat is felt;
I watch with satisfaction,
the icicles that melt.